


a heart of stone (a touch of flame)

by mutents



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Targaryen Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutents/pseuds/mutents
Summary: He heard the crack before he saw her fall. It was one of the most terrifying sounds he'd ever heard, and the sight of her plummeting to what would most certainly be her death was no better.





	a heart of stone (a touch of flame)

Sandor sat quietly across from the girl, a part of him still not able to believe that he'd managed to steal her away from King's Landing. Where he was snuggled close to the fire, though, she was several feet away.

"You better come closer, little bird," he said, his voice gruff as he focused back on the tunic he was fixing. "You'll freeze to death all the way over there."

She shook her head, snuggling tighter in her fur covering all the same. The Tully's had been kind to them while they'd been there, Edmure even going so far as to give her a cloak that had once belonged to her mother. Sandor had seen the tears in the girls eyes when she'd taken it. It was almost too short on her, but Sansa had hardly parted from it for a second.

Sandor snorted, shaking his head. "Fine; but I'm not carrying you the last few miles to Winterfell." Sandor had to suppress a frown at that. They both knew that it was a ridiculous lie; if the girl got so much as a scratch from a branch, he would burn the entire forest to the ground and dance on the ashes, his fear of fire be damned.

Sansa gave him a small smile, shaking her own head in return. "It's not that, Sandor," she murmured. "I'm simply already warm."

Sandor tilted his head, unsure if he believed the girl or not. They had grown closer during their travels; she'd stopped flinching away from his every touch after they'd passed the Isle of Faces, and had even taken to smiling at him more after crossing the River Road. The day he'd always remember, though, was the day she'd started calling him Sandor, after he'd had a close call in the Neck.

But, it was all very close to an end. They'd reached the fork of the White Knife river, and Winterfell was but a three days ride away. He knew that if there was anyone left in Winterfell, than the greeting he'd get would be farm from warm. No matter how beloved Sansa might be to her people, there was no way she could stop then inevitable calls for his death from the Lords of the North. After all, a dog is always loyal to his master. Never mind that the Lannister's hadn't been his master in years, not since the very first time Joffery had risen his hand to a serving girl and gotten no punishment for his actions.

No, Sandor was no longer loyal to the Lannister's. His heart belonged to a different animal now; it belonged to a wolf.

"Are you sure?" He asked, looking down at what little she'd eaten that evening. He'd never been terribly good with a bow and an arrow, preferring the bloodiness of the sword. But, he was able to make a simple trap, and had been catching most of their meals that way.

"Of course, Sandor," she said, rising to her feet and moving to stand closer to the river. "Everything's quite alright. Just... being here brings to me a lot of memories. My father brought us here, once; Robb, Jon, Theon and I. I was all of ten and one. For my brother's and Theon, it was one of the best few days of their life. I found it to be nothing short of torture. Being stuck outdoors, forced to bathe in a freezing river, eat game that the three boys had caught themselves... It was my very idea of a nightmare. I told father the last day we were here that I'd hated it, that I'd hated all of it, and most importantly that I hated him.

"It was a lie of course, a lie that only a silly child can create. And at the time, I hadn't thought about how my father might take it. I remember both Robb and Jon being shocked by my words; Jon had jumped to father's defense, as he always tended to do. He was nothing if not my father's son. Robb quickly backed him up. But Theon... Theon was the one that stuck with me. Theon just watched me with sad eyes. I couldn't understand why. He wasn't my brother, he had no personal investment in my father. I'd even go so far as to say that there was always a level of resentment from Theon.

"It wasn't until after my father had died that I realized what it was. Theon was morning that he had to have these moments with our father, and that he couldn't have moments of the same with his. And what bothered him the most was that I was just throwing it away, throwing the chance to bond with my father out like a dress that had gotten too small."

Sandor pushed himself to his feet, sensing a level of distress in Sansa that he hadn't seen before. He wasn't sure what to tell the little bird; he had no warm memories with his father to share. All of them had been overshadowed by his father's refusal to acknowledge what Gregor had done to him. Where her hatred of her father was a lie, his was a living, breathing thing that hadn't even died when his father had.

Instead, he chose silence, hoping that what the girl needed at the moment was simply a willing ear. As he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, he was unsurprised to see tear tracks on her face. What did surprise him was her turning to him and wrapping her arms around his body. He froze for several seconds, unsure what to do, before finally giving into his heart and cradling the little bird in his arms.

* * *

Sandor jolted awake, startled out of a sound sleep from something that he couldn't put his finger on. He sat up quietly, his eyes first scanning the trees in front of him before looking at Sansa's bedroll.

The girl was gone.

Sandor stood quickly, throwing off his own cloak and grabbing his sword. There was no way anyone could have gotten far with her, and he was certain that she would put up a fight for as long as she was able to. Turning himself in a complete circle, looking for threats from any angle, he found himself shocked to see the familiar flash of red hair several meters out, standing barefoot on the ice of the river.

Not dropping his sword, Sandor rushed to the river's edge. He didn't dare take a step onto the frozen water; where Sansa might be light footed enough to step on such a thin layer of ice, he was certainly not.

"Sansa!" He hissed, trying not to raise his voice to loud, for fear of them being found. When the girl didn't turn towards him, he repeated her name, calling louder this time. After another non-answer from the girl, he gave up all pretense of silence and subtlty, bellowing her name as loud as he could. The only thing he succeeded in doing, though, was scarring a few birds from the nearby trees.

Throwing his hands up, he looked down at the ice in frustration. He had no idea what he could do; he could hardly go out there on his own, but if he didn't she was sure to freeze to death. Not only were her feet bare, but she had taken off her cloak as well. As he watched her step farther out onto the ice, he was shocked to watch her drop the dress. Wearing nothing but her smallclothes, she continued her path. Once she had reached the halfway point, she stopped, looking up at the sky in silence.

Sandor stood still in his shock. He couldn't understand what the little bird was doing; she had to be freezing. "Sansa," he called one last time, his voice far breathier than before.

This time, she turned towards him, ever so slowly. Even from that distance, he could see the warm smile that was gracing her features. He kept his eyes trained on hers, unsure of what was going to happen. He watched as she took a step back towards him...

Then everything changed.

He heard the crack before he saw her fall. It was one of the most terrifying sounds he'd ever heard, and the sight of her plummeting to what would most certainly be her death was no better. Throwing his sword to the ground, he quickly ran across the ice, fearing with every step he took that it would crumble under him and leave them both trapped in the cold embrace. The Gods he didn't believe in must have been with him, for he managed to reach her without a single crack more forming. Dropping to his knees by the hole, he searched the murky water desperately for any sign of the girl.

As it always was, it was her hair that drew his attention first. She was several feet under the water, obviously trying desperately to reach the surface. Reaching into the water, Sandor bit back a grunt of paint as the freezing river met his skin. Grabbing onto her forearm, he pulled her up, far more roughly than he had ever intended. As her head broke the surface, he heard her gasp for air. He continued to pull, not pausing until she was out of the water and in his arms. He allowed himself all of a seconds rest before gathering her up and carrying her back across the water. He stepped carefully but quickly, knowing that he needed to get both of them to fire as quickly as possible.

Once he'd reached their camp, he settled her gently on his bedroll, preparing to wrap every fur he could find around her. Before he could, he touched her arm, and was shocked by what he felt.

Where he was already shivering from his short time reaching into the water, the girl was nearly sweating.

"Sansa..." He hissed, tucking a fur under her all the same, preserving what little modesty she had left.

She opened her eyes slowly, a smile on her face. "Why ever did you do that, Sandor?"

"Why ever did I... You nearly drowned, you stupid, silly girl! Do you understand that! You could have died!" He said, his voice closer to a bark than to words.

She lazily shook her head, chuckling as she looked at him. She wrestled her arm from under the furs, placing her hand against his face. "Nonsense, Sandor... Cold cannot kill a direwolf."

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, like, a couple of days ago I was thinking about how fucking awesome it would be if the Stark's had their own mirror to the Targaryen's. Since Daenerys can walk through fire, my mind instantly felt like frozen water would be the perfect 180 from that.
> 
> I like how this turned out, and I really like the idea as well. I might write more for it someday, but it's complete for now.


End file.
